


Game of Survival

by xJennaObrienx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Gen, Lydia Martin & Scott McCall Friendship, McCall Pack, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott and Stiles bromance, Scott-Centric, Teen Wolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-08 21:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11654724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJennaObrienx/pseuds/xJennaObrienx
Summary: Scott McCall thinks he's going crazy - Lydia can't help but agree. Maybe the true alpha is finally breaking apart after all this time. But Stiles, as usual, is keen to solve the latest supernatural mystery and Malia wants to join in too. Scott just wishes he could help...but how can he, when he can barely help himself?It seems that trouble is drawn to Beacon Hills - or more precisely, to the Nemeton. It never seems to stop coming. But is there a way to switch off a supernatural beacon?Maybe it's time to end it - for once and for all...





	1. Chapter 1

Scott had disappeared. That was the first thing Lydia noticed as she swung open his bedroom door. His bed was neatly made. His homework was stacked smartly on the desk. The floor was clear. But his window was wide open, and the curtains billowed out in the soft breeze.

Lydia frowned. This struck her as odd, as Melissa had told her only seconds before that her son was upstairs, in his room, doing homework - which he clearly was not. In fact, Scott McCall was nowhere to be seen. The room was empty.

"Melissa?" Lydia called, stepping back into the hall, "Scott isn't here,"

There was a sound of footsteps on a wooden floor, before she appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a frown carving itself into her face.

"He isn't?" this was obviously a surprise to her too, "But I spoke to him two minutes ago. He said he had homework to do,"

"He hasn't even got his homework out," Lydia informed her, before turning to go back into the room. Melissa hurried up the stairs behind her.

The room was still spotless as far as Lydia could see. There was no note, or anything else to suggest why he wasn't there. Only the wide open window suggested that something was wrong.

"Did he go through the window?" Melissa asked, looking concerned, "Would he do that?"

"I don't see why he would," Lydia admitted, walking over to it. She ran her finger along the window sill, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Part of her hoped she found nothing, and that Scott had simply popped out the front door unnoticed to go the shop. But of course, that wasn't possible; it was Beacon Hills. A beacon for the supernatural and super dangerous.

She got up onto the bed, tucking her hair behind her ears. Clambering across it was the only way to reach the window, as it was right above the pillows. She wanted to look out of it. Melissa didn't pay her any attention; she was too busy trying to call Scott on her phone, but only succeeded in reaching the voicemail. The sound rang across the room.

She leaned through the open window, glancing down into the garden below. Directly down, there was mostly grass and a couple of half decent flower beds. The rest of the garden was mostly bare. But Lydia supposed it made sense; Melissa was a single parent. She didn't exactly have the time to fuss over her garden when she was busy working at the hospital.

There was nothing else out of place that she could see. With a sigh, she reached out for the handle on the open window in order to close it, only to freeze. She felt herself have a sharp intake of breath.

"What is it?" Melissa demanded, turning to face her, "Did you find something?"

Lydia grimaced at the crimson on the outside of the window sill, and the frame around the glass.

"There's blood on the window," she whispered.

***

"What do you mean, there's blood on the window?" Stiles Stilinski's voice ordered, echoing around the room. Lydia winced and turned the loudspeaker off, hoping she hadn't interrupted Melissa's own phone call too much. She could imagine his face only too clearly - a glare which explained how he felt on its own - impatient and worried.

"I mean there's blood on the window. How else would you like me to explain it?" she snapped back. As helpful as Stiles was trying to be, he wasn't being particularly helpful at that moment in time. Lydia thought that "irritating" would be a slightly more accurate description.

"I was just checking! Where did he go? Is it Scott's blood? - please don't say it is. Did you see-"

"I don't know! How am I supposed to know? I wasn't even here Stiles. I just called you because I thought you might like to know that your best friend is missing,"

"Okay, fine. Stay there. I'm coming over," there was a pause as Stiles presumably leaned away to grab his keys and get to the jeep, "Is there anything else there?"

"I haven't looked," Lydia admitted. She wasn't surprised that he was coming. After all, it was his best friend. "Melissa is calling Argent too. She thought he might be able to find something,"

"Oh, um okay. Great. I'm just gonna call Malia now. She might be able to pick up a scent, so I'm gonna hang up now...bye,"

"Bye Stiles," she said, raising an eyebrow. He sounded slightly distracted. She hoped he wasn't trying to reverse out of his drive way while on the phone. Last time he'd done that, he'd knocked the letter box over.

"Chris is coming," Melissa informed her as she put her phone down, "But he may take a while, he left Beacon Hills to pick up something up,"

"How far away is he?"

"An hour. Maybe an hour and a half at the most,"

"Okay," she nodded and turned to look at the window, "Maybe we should look to see what else we can find. I don't know what else to do,"

"Maybe we should just wait for an expert. I have no idea what I'm looking for," Melissa admitted.

Truth be told, Lydia had no idea what she wanted to look for either - maybe more blood. She just wanted to do something helpful. Every second she spent doing nothing, she felt was being wasted. Scott could have been in trouble, and every second counted.

"I'm going to look outside," she replied after a moment, ignoring the other woman's suggestion, "I just have a feeling,"

Melissa didn't stop her, so Lydia escaped from the room and hurried down the stairs. It occurred to her that she'd never been in the McCall's back yard, but she knew where the back door was. It was also lucky that she knew where the keys were kept (thanks to Stiles, who always helped himself to them as if they were his own) because the back door was locked.

Once she'd opened the door, she stepped through and closed it softly behind her. 

It was obvious that the garden wasn't something that was used often. The grass reached well past her ankles, and was in desperate need of a cut. Next to the door, there was a lone flowerpot, which seemed to be containing something that looked suspiciously like weeds. The rest of the garden wasn't much better.

She picked her way through the garden, moving towards the flowerbed that was below Scott's window. There were actual plants there, but they looked as if they'd been there a while - though they did seem to be doing fairly well on their own.

Kneeling down, she searched through the plants, looking for anything that might have dropped. Every few seconds she had to pause to tuck her hair behind her ears, and she found herself wishing that she'd brought a hair bobble with her. It was hard to look at anything when she had strawberry blonde curls hanging in front of her face. But it didn't seem to matter; there wasn't anything to find anyway.

After around five minutes, she gave up. All she was going to do was come across a huge spider or some other form of creepy, filthy creature and she didn't want to risk it.

"Lydia?"

She stood up and turned around. Malia was coming towards her.

"Is Stiles here?" she asked. Malia nodded.

"He ran upstairs. But I followed your scent out here,"

"I was looking for clues," she admitted, folding her arms. She hadn't realised how much of a breeze there was.

"I can smell blood," Malia came to a stop beside her and looked up, "I thinks it's Scott's blood,"

"I had a feeling it was," she sighed, her worst suspicions confirmed, "Can you smell anything else?"

"Yes - Scott's scent. But I can't pick anything else up. All I can smell is gravy,"

Lydia turned to give the were-coyote a look, eyebrows raised.

"Melissa was cooking," Malia explained, before grabbing her wrist, "Come on, I want to look in Scott's room,"

Lydia grudgingly allowed the were-coyote to drag her back towards the house, before they both paused again. A phone was ringing, somewhere in the garden. The shrill sound pierced through the air. They shared a look and turned back around again.

Malia of course, with her amplified hearing, found the phone first in the grass near the back of the garden. It was was Scott's black Samsung, and there was a single crack across the top of the screen. Lydia sighed. It looked like GPS tracking wasn't going to work, though, admittedly, she hadn't actually thought about it.

She gently pried the mobile out of Malia's hand, before turning it on. Despite the large crack, the screen still worked, so she was able to unlock it and answer the incoming call.

"Scott?" asked Stiles voice.

"Nope. Lydia,"

"Wait. How do you know his phone password?"

"I know everyone's password. His phone was just lying in the grass - it's cracked. I think he must have dropped it," she said, turning it on loudspeaker and examining the crack. For all she knew, the crack could have already been there. Scott didn't exactly have a good reputation when it came to electronic devices.

"Already?" Stiles sighed, "He got a new one two weeks ago because he lost the other one,"

"Did you find anything?" she asked him, ignoring the phone comment. They couldn't afford to get off topic.

"No. There's nothing here - part of me feels like there should be something else. But I don't want to start jumping to conclusions...you know? I'm just waiting for something else to happen - like what Deaton said: Regression to the mean. The last few months have been really good, so at some point, things have got to get really bad again in order to balance it out more, right?"

"Maybe," Lydia replied thoughtfully. She'd been thinking about it herself ever since they'd defeated the dread doctors. It had always been in the back of her mind - deep down, she was waiting for something else to happen. It was the price to pay for disturbing the Nemeton and turning it into a beacon for the supernatural. There never seemed to be any more than a few months between each incident.

"So you're saying something else wants to kill us?" Malia asked, frowning.

"Pretty much," Stiles confirmed, "Do you want to look at the blood and find a scent?"

"No. I already have it," Malia turned and stalked off, heading towards the back of the garden. Lydia watched her go, wishing she would wait, before glancing back down at the phone.

"I'm going to follow Malia," she told Stiles, "So hurry up,"

She hung up before he could answer and turned to follow the were-coyote. Malia had already made it to the fence and was running her fingers over it thoughtfully.

"Did you find anything?" she asked, walking over. She cursed herself for wearing little brown wedge heels. As nice as they looked, they were not suitable for walking through long grass and uneven ground. The same went for the rest of her outfit; the pink, white and green flowered dress that nearly reached down to her knees was also a disadvantage.

"Only Scott's scent," Malia replied. She was wearing denim shorts and a plaid green and pink shirt along with black converse shoes. Despite the colours being an awful combination (she should really have taught Malia how to dress with even a little fashion sense by now) she couldn't help but think the clothes were a lot more practicable for the outdoors.

Lydia watched the were-coyote wander up and down the fence, her face showing nothing but concentration. She assumed she was looking for the point where the scent was strongest, though it was hard to tell with Malia.

"Got anything yet?" Stiles called, running up to them, Lydia's leather brown shoulder bag clutched in his hand, "Hey, you forgot this," he added.

"Thanks," she said, taking it and sliding the strap over her shoulder. She'd left the small bag in Scott's room when she'd opened it to find her phone. After the call she'd made she completely forgotten about it. However, now she had it again, she slid the cracked phone into it as it bumped gently against her hip.

"Scott's scent leads over the fence," Malia decided suddenly. Stiles and Lydia looked up just in time to see the were-coyote scale the fence and hop over it. Lydia huffed.

"I am not climbing over the fence," she told Stiles stubbornly. She didn't have a choice anyway; climbing in heels was never a good idea, especially if she had a dress on.

"You won't have to. There's a gate over here somewhere," he gestured at her to follow and moved further along the fence. If he hadn't shown her the gate, she would never have known it was there. The wooden gate blended in perfectly with the rest of the fence, except it had a small rusty padlock on a handle. She hoped it wasn't locked.

Fortunately, it wasn't. Stiles pulled the padlock off and dropped it on the floor, with the air of someone who had done this many times before. It took him a moment to move the handle, as it had grown stiff with age and little use. Finally though, he tugged the gate open, and the two of them darted through.

Malia was waiting impatiently for them on the other side. She looked cross.

"Well?" Stiles asked, flapping his hands at her, "Let's get going!"

Malia rolled her eyes and jogged off, leaving Stiles and Lydia to hurry after her.

It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Something is wrong. It's the only thing that registers to Scott as he lets out a soft groan, because he isn't feeling so good. Werewolves don't get hangovers, but if they did, he imagines it would feel something like this. His head throbs, his body aches with exhaustion and he just wants to sleep. But he can't even do that, because his mattress feels unusually uncomfortable. It feels like...earth? He can even feel twigs poking into his back - but that can't be right? Can it? Mattresses don't feel like that. They're warm and soft and comfortable; everything this isn't.

He blinks his eyes open groggily, only to reveal a bright blur. Involuntarily, his eyelids immediately slid shut again; he doesn't blame them. The world is too bright and he just needs to sleep. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently it is.

The sound of a twig snapping is what cause his eyes to fly open next. He doesn't have twigs in his room, so he shouldn't be hearing them snap. Unless of course...he isn't in his room.

Scott sits up with a jolt. The first thing he see is the ground, and it is indeed covered in twigs and leaves. That at least explains one thing. What it doesn't explain however, is why he is sitting in the middle of (what he hopes is) Beacon Hill's Nature Preserve. It just doesn't make sense. Why would he be here?

He lifts his head up cautiously, scanning the trees and plant life. Apart from a lone rabbit, digging near the base of a tree, he appears to be completely alone. There's no sign of a struggle, or anything else that a supernatural creature might leave behind after a fight. In fact, it's beginning to look like he might have wandered over here by himself - although, if he did, he certainly doesn't remember it.

So, as expected, he feels fairly freaked out. But he's not freaked out enough for his heart rate to increase. It's not like this hasn't happened before. When he was first bitten, it happened a lot. He lost count of the number of times he woke up surrounded by trees on a school morning - it usually ended up with Stiles picking him up on a road in the middle of nowhere, assuming his best friend could find him. More often than not, Scott would spend a majority of the day wandering around the preserve, looking for a way back home. After the first couple of times, he'd even started to put his phone in his pocket before he slept, so Stiles could find him with a GPS.

Now however, Scott does not have his phone on him and he is not a newly bitten werewolf. As a true alpha, this definitely shouldn't be happening. But it is, so now he has to deal with it.

Scott is reminded of how much his head hurts when he stands up. The world swings dangerously one way and the floor seems to tilt sideways as he staggers to the left. He's suddenly glad nobody can see him; he definitely looks drunk. As a matter of fact, all the symptoms point towards the suggestion that he is indeed, drunk - dizziness, headaches, blackouts and memory loss.

He laughs suddenly. He's not sure why, but it suddenly seems very funny. Maybe it's because he knows he's not drunk...or at least, he doesn't think he is. There's also a possibility that he's just straight up crazy, which seems to suddenly be a lot more likely after his random burst of laughter.

Scott vaguely registers in the back of his mind that he shouldn't be laughing in a serious situation. Something could be seriously wrong. Something was seriously wrong. Why was he in the middle of nowhere?

He laughs so hard he almost falls back down again. It's ridiculous. Maybe he's just in shock (why would he be in shock?) and his brain isn't processing things correctly.

In the end, he comes to the conclusion that he's probably just crazy; it makes more sense to him. 

But as much as he would like to stand and laugh all day, he knows he can't. Judging by the angle of the sunlight slanting through the canopy of trees, he figures that it's probably late afternoon. Though saying that, he could be wrong. His current condition doesn't exactly inspire confidence in himself.

People were going to start wondering where he was by the time darkness fell. Or at least his mother and Stiles would. Maybe. Stiles would for definite. However, if his mom didn't see him in the house, she'd probably just assume he'd gone to Stiles' house.

Scott lets out a frustrated sigh. It's Sunday (he thinks it is anyway). All he wants to do is relax and finish up homework for school the next day. But it doesn't look like it's going to happen any time soon.

"What did I do to deserve this?" He mumbles to himself. Nobody answers- not that he expects them to. Instead he smirks, barely holding back a laugh. He must be crazy if he's already talking to himself.

But when he turns to walk away, he immediately freezes. The situation suddenly isn't so funny anymore.

Right in front of him is the Nemeton.

 

Roughly three hours have past since Scott saw the Nemeton. He hasn't laughed since. What he has done, however, is wander aimlessly throughout the nature preserve, meandering around trees and rocks. Anyone who had been to the Nemeton knew that it wasn't three hours away from Beacon Hills - in fact, it wasn't even one hour.

So naturally, he comes to the conclusion that he is lost. He isn't sure how he's managed it though; he knows the way back from the Nemeton - he's done it plenty of times before. Even Stiles, who has no sense of direction whatsoever (though Scott will never tell him) knows the way back from the Nemeton. It just doesn't make sense, because Scott had even gone in the same direction they always went in, but still manged to end up somewhere completely different.

Maybe his memory loss is more severe than he'd first thought. It offers him little reassurance.

It's even starting to get faintly dark, with the sun slowly sinking below the clouds. Scott wonders how long he's been missing for, but he honestly has no idea. The last thing he remembers is talking to his mom; they were discussing something about the hospital...or at least he thinks they were. She'd definitely just got back from work, but what had he been doing? Homework? Work? His mind draws a blank. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. He has no idea. It's irritating.

It's also somewhat scary, when you have no idea what you've done recently. Had he lost control and wolfed out? Was he possessed? Had he found a way to get drunk and ended up completely wasted? Who knew? Certainly not Scott. For all he knows, he might have done something courageously stupid and ended up getting knocked out with a head injury (it wouldn't be the first time).

When this thought occurs to him, he immediately pauses to check himself for dried blood. He's not even surprised to find his right hand painted in red - though who knows if it's actually his blood. Maybe he casually committed a quick murder and slit a throat. Stiles would tell him he probably ripped apart a small innocent rabbit. It's still possible after all.

He hopes there weren't any dog walkers or joggers around when he was out of it. Sheriff Stilinski probably wouldn't like him very much if he had to cover up yet another werewolf attack; the other deputies were getting suspicious. Chris Argent wouldn't like him very much either. In fact, he'd probably murder him. Scott shivers. The thought isn't very reassuring. 

"SCOTT?" he swings around at the sound of a familiar voice, peering through the trees. The voice is loud and feminine; most likely to be Malia. He can't see her though. After the last few hours, it's very possible that he's seeing things. Hallucinations wouldn't even be surprising at this point.

"Scott?" his name travels through the air again, but this time it sounds like Lydia. Unsure of where the sound is coming from, he turns, but he still can't see anything. Maybe he is crazy. Are the voices inside his head? What would Lydia be doing inside the nature preserve anyway? His head still throbs.

"Hey! Scott! SCOTT!" it's Stiles' voice this time. He sounds impatient. Scott doesn't know why. He isn't the one lost in the middle of nowhere. Typical Stiles. He keeps staring into the trees, praying that he hasn't gone mad. There's no one there.

"Scott!" the voice is behind him and much louder this time, as if it were closer. He spins around, only to find his best friend directly behind him.

He stumbles back in shock. Why hadn't he sensed him there?

"Stiles?" he blinks and realises that Lydia and Malia are there too. The banshee is staring at him like he's gone mad (maybe he has) and Malia is frowning at him, almost as is she can't figure something out. Scott knows the feeling. Stiles' eyes just widen with concern. He has his fingers held up in a certain way, almost as if he might have clicked them to grab Scott's attention. He doesn't remember hearing them.

"Yeah, it's me. What are you doing out here?" Stiles asks, grabbing his arm.

"I - I don't know ," he stammers, fumbling with his words, "I walked from the Nemeton,"

He watches Lydia frown.

"How long ago did you leave the Nemeton," she interrogates him. Scott shrugs.

"Maybe just over three hours ago?" he doesn't know for sure. He has no watch or phone to check.

"Scott, we are roughly four miles away from the Nemeton," Lydia tells him, "It takes the average person twenty minutes to walk a mile and you are a werewolf. It should only take you one hour and twenty minutes at the most, not three hours,"

He raises his eyebrows at her. He'd gone to the Nemeton and had no memory of it, with his hand covered in blood, but she was concerned with how long it took him to walk four miles.

"Why did you go to the Nemeton?" enquires Malia, asking the real question.

"I have no idea," he says, a lot more willing to answer a more convenient question.

"You don't remember? Or you just randomly had an unexplainable urge to visit a tree stump?" prods Stiles. Scott glares at him.

"I just had an unexplainable and sudden urge to visit a tree stump," he says sarcastically, "Of course. Why else would I go?"

"It must have been very sudden buddy, seeing as you literally jumped out of a window," Stiles tells him informatively.

"I jumped out a window?"

Stiles face drops suddenly.

"You really don't remember, do you?" he asks. Scott watches him trade a look with Lydia.

"We don't know that for sure," Lydia assures him quickly.

"Your window was wide open and your blood was on it," Malia points out. Lydia glares at her, giving her a look that said it all: You're not helping.

"I woke up right next to the Nemeton," he says, frowning. Maybe he is going crazy. After all, he doesn't remember ever injuring himself when he lost control before. Usually, like other out of control werewolves, he would just try to injure anything with a heartbeat. But he shouldn't even be out of control - he's an alpha.

"Whoa!" says Stiles, leaning forward with raised eyebrows, "You woke up out of a trance or something?"

"No!" replies Scott, giving his friend a look, "I woke up, like literally. I was lying on the ground,"

"Well that's worse isn't it?" Malia asks, "- if you were unconscious. Maybe something attacked you,"

"I don't think I was attacked," he admits, "I wasn't hurt,"

"You could have healed," Stiles points out, "Besides, you cut your hand open and that healed didn't it? Maybe you just hit your head and got knocked out,"

"And I hit my head so hard I have memory loss?" Scott asks, eyebrows raised. He pauses when he sees Stiles's smirk, "What?"

"You got caught in the woods red handed, dude," he snorts, pointing at the alpha's bloody hand.

"Stiles," he glares at his friend, "Shut up. You aren't even funny,"

"Whatever - I'm hilarious," Stiles grins, "Come on, I saw the opportunity and took it, don't judge me,"

"Stiles, not now!" Lydia scolds him. Scott shoves the boy away from him and stalks off, his head pounding. He's had enough and he still feels like he's recovering from some sort of werewolf hangover. It's got slightly better, but still - it hurts.

"Now look what you've done. You pissed him off," Malia tells Stiles behind him.

"I didn't piss him off. In no way is it my fault if he doesn't appreciate my attempt to cheer him up,"

"You pissed him off," argues Malia.

"I'm not pissed off!" he snaps. Malia and Stiles whirl around to look at him.

"You sound pissed off," Malia retorts.

"Then both of you shut up!" cries Lydia, "Seriously, leave him alone,"

They both go silent. Scott huffs and walks off. He needs peace and quiet - and his head is throbbing.

"Hey, buddy? Where you going?" Stiles' voice rings out and breaks the almost ten second silence.

"Home," he snaps. One second he's relieved to see them, the next he wants to get as far away as possible. It's a constant string of no win situations. He doesn't even understand himself anymore. Maybe mood swings are another sign of madness.

Or maybe he was already crazy in the first place. He keeps walking. When he gets home, he isn't planning to do his homework anymore. Instead, he's gonna sleep - and possibly find something to numb the headache, possibly a tablet of some sort. It's a good plan.

It takes him a few more seconds to realise the others aren't following him, so he pauses and turns back. The three of them are in the same place, with concerned, confused and somewhat surprised expressions plastered across their faces. He stares at them.

"Scott...home isn't in that direction," Malia says finally. She twists and points behind her, "It's in that direction,"

"No," he immediately denies, "I came from the Nemeton that way,"

"So did we," states Lydia gently. Scott can't figure out why she looks so concerned, "but Beacon Hills is in that direction too. You must have walked to the Nemeton and then carried on walking. You never turned back around,"

"I turned around," he insists. It's one of the things he does remember doing. When he got to his feet he turned, because that's how he found the Nemeton.

"Then if you did turn, you must have circled back around at some point, buddy" Stiles says, "I promise you, home is in this direction,"

He stands still in defeat and lets Stiles walk towards him. It's apparent that he's not going to get his way, even if he is right. He's outnumbered; three against one. Stiles grabs his arm and pulls him back to the girls, but surprisingly gently. He can see Lydia frowning even more as they get closer.

"Scott, let me see your eyes," she says, stepping forward. Scott steps back warily.

"Why?" They aren't red, are they? He assumes not, as nothing has the red tint on it that comes with enhanced werewolf vision. Even Stiles and Malia look slightly confused.

Lydia steps forward again and reaches up to grab his shoulders in order to keep him still. On any other day he would have resisted being man handled, but his head hurts too much and he can't be bothered to disagree. However, he does keep eye contact with her as she stares into his eyes thoughtfully.

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" she asks suddenly. He stares at her.

"No. Even if I did, I would healed by now," he informs her, removing her hands. She doesn't seem to believe him.

"I think he has a concussion," she announces, looking at Stiles and Malia. He raises his eyebrows at her in disbelief. That's a bit far, even for Lydia Martin.

"Werewolves can get concussions?" Stiles asks, looking sceptical. He turns to Malia and repeats it, "Werewolves can get concussions?"

"I don't," she states stiffly, almost as if she felt offended.

"Well this one does," say Lydia, clapping her hand on his back. He removes her hand, yet again. Contact was not necessary, especially when she was trying to make him look weak.

"I do not have a concussion," he states loudly. Lydia simply raises her eyebrows at him.

"No? Well why do you have so many symptoms for one then?" she challenges. 

"Since when were you a medical expert?" he snaps and then repeats heatedly, "I do not have a concussion,"

All it does is make it sound like he's trying to convince himself. Malia and Stiles don't say anything, except watch him carefully. Lydia looks annoyingly smug.

"I took a first aid course during the summer a couple of years ago," she says, flicking her hair and smiling sweetly, "Symptoms for a concussion include unequal pupil sizes, confusion, Amnesia, being dazed, irritability and other personality changes, disorders of taste and smell, loss of balance and unsteady walking - and you have all of the ones I just mentioned,"

"I am not dazed, irritable or unbalanced," he snaps, "You just made all of that up,"

"I'm probably right in thinking you are tired and have a headache too, am I correct?" she questions.

"No - and I hate you," he says and moves to grab Stiles, even though she's right.

"Whoa," say the boy, moving out of his reach, "That doesn't sound like something our Scotty would usually say. What were you saying about personality changes, Lyds?"

"I hate you too," he points at Stiles. He stalks back in the direction he's been told is correct and heads home. But the floor tilts suddenly and he staggers sideways slightly again, narrowly missing a tree.

"Shut up!" he says, before anyone of them can open their mouth again. He carries on walking, but at a slower pace. He does not have a concussion. He does not have a concussion. He does not have a concussion.

But the more he repeats it, the more he wonders if there's a slight possibility that he may, in fact, have a concussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought now would be a good time to point out I'm not American, so you'll probably notice a few incorrect words here and there. All criticism is greatly appreciated - thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

It's taken them almost as twice as long to get back as it did to find Scott. Lydia puts it down to the alpha slowing them down, but she doesn't want to blame him; it isn't his fault. After all, he can't help having a concussion - if that's what it is.

As Scott stumbled onward, Malia just behind ready to catch him if he fell, Lydia had hung back slightly with Stiles to talk. They'd both agreed very early on that the alpha wouldn't be listening to their conversation; he seemed to be having trouble focusing. The fact that he hadn't noticed them coming up to him until Stiles was standing in his personal space worried them both - even a human would have heard them coming. But Scott had been completely oblivious, almost as if he'd been in a world of his own. So they'd decided to take him to Deaton - if they could convince Scott to go, of course. He was determined to deny that anything was wrong.

"Malia! Through the gate!" Stiles calls as they draw closer to the familiar McCall fence. It's probably a good idea if Scott avoids climbing any fences in his current condition and it would help if Malia doesn't do it either; they don't want the alpha to get any ideas.

Malia turns and Lydia almost expects her to give them a dirty look, but she doesn't. Usually the were-coyote takes any opportunity she can find to climb something. Instead, she simply nods, as if the idea has occurred to her too.

As expected, Scott doesn't say anything, even if he finds the instruction slightly weird. Maybe he doesn't realise there's a reason behind it.

"You okay?" For a moment Lydia thinks Stiles is directing the question at Scott. It takes her a second to realise he's actually asking her. She frowns.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You look like you're trying not to limp," he admits.

"It's what happens when you spend several hours hiking through the wilderness in heels," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "Anyway, you should be worried about Scott. He's the one walking around with a head injury,"

"Are you sure it's actually a head injury though? Like, he should have healed by now, especially if his hand has healed,"

She pauses, on hand on the strap of her bag, and turns to face him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, no offence to you or anything, but what if he doesn't actually have a concussion? What if someone did something to him, I don't know, like...mentally? It wouldn't be the first time someone magically influenced a werewolf,"

Lydia wonders if he's talking about the incident at the motel when the werewolves tried to commit suicide, but she doesn't want to say it out loud. The werewolves were definitely influenced by a dark druid then, which she supposes counts as magic. It's supernatural, anyway.

"But why?" she asks instead, "What motive? And who would do it?"

"I don't know. But I can think of plenty of people who want Scott dead," Stiles looks at her grimly and carries on walking. Lydia follows him a few steps behind, making a list of suspects in her head.

Jennifer is dead. Peter is in Eichen House. The hunters in Mexico are staying away (for now) and Argent is on their side. It could possibly be a hunter or assassin from the dead pool, but there's no longer anything it it for them. Besides, who would go to all the trouble of leading Scott to the Nemeton just to kill him? And Theo is gone, hopefully for good. Lydia can't think of anyone else who would attack him.

She doesn't even know if someone wants to kill him. Maybe there isn't even someone else involved. For all they know, Scott could have simply lost control and run blindly into the Nature Preserve. His links to the Nemeton could simply be the reason why he felt drawn to it. But why would Scott lose control in the first place?

It doesn't make sense. But then again, when did anything in Beacon Hills ever make sense?

She huffs and slips through the gate, not even bothering to close it. She can see Scott and Malia going through the back door already, but Stiles has paused to wait for her.

"It's probably time to try and take him to Deaton," Stiles states, "Assuming we can convince Scott to let us take him,"

"I'm sure Malia will be willing to wrestle him into the car," Lydia replies, stalking across the lawn.

"That's what I'm worried about. I was trying not to encourage violence, especially with Malia,"

"Then Malia can be the last resort," she answers quickly and steps in through the back door. Immediately, she slides her heels off with a sigh of relief . If everything goes to plan, they'll only be in the house a few minutes to update Melissa and Argent, but as long as she gets a couple of minutes of relief, she'll be happy. Stiles watches her, looking slightly concerned.

"Do you want plasters or something?"

"No, I'm good," she waves him off and picks her shoes up, following the other two into the living room. Melissa gets up at the sight of them, looking relieved; Argent is already standing. She walks past him to stand on the fluffy mat; nothing has ever felt so comfortable in her life.

Scott however, flops down on the couch and starfishes out. Malia perches on the arm of it next to him. Stiles just stands next to Argent, hands on his hips. For a moment, nobody speaks.

"Where was he?" Argent breaks the silence and Lydia realises he's directing the question at her.

"He went to the Nemeton," she gives him a short and sweet answer, the one she knows he's looking for. She knows why he asked her. Malia often gives one word answers, and Stiles either exaggerates or goes into too much depth. Scott just looks half dead on the couch.

"Why did you go to the Nemeton, Sweetie?" Melissa looks over at her son and frowns, "Are you okay?"

Scott closes his eyes, but doesn't answer. Malia pokes him.

"He doesn't remember anything," Stiles answers instead, "He says he just woke up there, on the ground,"

"I think he has a concussion," Lydia says quickly, immediately after, "or at least a head injury. He seems to have quite a few symptoms,"

"-A lot of symptoms," Stiles corrects. Lydia just nods.

Melissa moves forward and crouches down next to her son, but he still doesn't respond. Either he's ignoring her, or he doesn't know she'd there. It's hard to tell.

"He also spent three hours after that "coming home", " Stiles tells Argent, making quotation marks in the air with his hands, "Except he went four miles in the opposite direction,"

Even Argent is frowning now. Apparently this isn't something he's heard of before.

"The blood on the window is definitely his, and his tracks lead over the fence," he says, "I would understand it if he was still a newly bitten wolf, but he isn't. I was under the impression he had complete control,"

"So were we," Stiles says quietly. It's clear he's remembering Scott as a newly bitten werewolf - Lydia can tell by his frown. She barely knew them then - all she knew was Stiles' name and Scott was just the nameless guy in some of her classes that hung around with him. In fact, if it wasn't for Allison, Lydia doubts she would know them even now. Jackson would still probably be her boyfriend. So much has changed since then - she can't even imagine Scott being an out of control werewolf.

"Maybe we should just take him to Deaton," Malia suggests to Melissa. Scott is still ignoring every question she asks him.

Argent nods, agreeing.

"It's probably a good idea," he says slowly, "It's possible he's been poisoned with wolfsbane and there are many different types. If you know what to mix it with, it can do all sorts of things to a supernatural creature,"

"Or mistletoe," adds Stiles.

"Mistletoe is more of a poison," Argent corrects him, "It doesn't generally change the behaviour of a werewolf,"

"What if mistletoe is mixed with wolfsbane?" Malia asks. Lydia notices how quiet the were-coyote has been throughout the conversation - it's strange.

"Then it will probably be a quick and painful death," Argent answers, "Especially if it's injected directly into the system,"

"Too much information," Stiles says, pulling a face, "And I really do not want to know how you know that,"

He walks across the room to Scott, and pokes his leg with his foot. The werewolf blinks sleepily

"Come on Buddy, lets go find Deaton,"

When Scott doesn't show any sign of getting up, Stiles leans over and awkwardly hauls him up, slinging his friend's arm over his shoulder. Malia moves to help, getting his other side. A low groan escapes the alpha's lips. His eyes are barely open, about to flicker shut again.

"Scott, don't close your eyes," Melissa tells him sternly, "Especially if you do have a concussion,"

Scott mumbles something, but Lydia doesn't quite catch it. It would probably help if he actually opened his mouth.

"He's tired," Malia translates, "His head really hurts,"

Lydia isn't surprised. At least he's admitting it now though.

She slips her heels back on and grabs Stiles' car keys from the table, where Melissa probably put them after he slung them to the side earlier. But she has no intention of actually driving the jeep. Stiles can do that after he's dragged Scott into the back.

If they manage to actually get him to the jeep.

It certainly takes a while. Stiles and Malia spend most of the short journey arguing over how to get him there and which one of them should go through the door first when they go through sideways. It also doesn't help that Scott is so unbalanced; his unevenly distributed weight means he leans more on one person than the other, without even realising.

By the time they do get outside, Argent has left. Stiles mutters a few unrepeatable words about werewolves and then immediately gets scolded by Melissa, hovering worriedly behind him. With a roll of her eyes, Lydia unlocks the jeep and opens the back door, waiting for Malia and Scott to get in first. This is also a painfully slow process.

Eventually though, they get it done and Lydia and Stiles slide into the front seats.

"I swear to God, if Deaton isn't even there today and I did this all for nothing..." Stiles shakes his head and mimes slitting a throat. Lydia can't decide if it's Malia or Deaton that he's planning to murder. Maybe it's Scott.

"Just get on with it," she tells him, before he speeds off at an unreasonable speed.

 

Lydia thinks they reach the Vet clinic in record time. As Stiles unskillfully parks in a parking spot, Lydia turns to look at the werewolf in the back of the car. His eyes are closed and Lydia's heart almost skips a beat.

"Scott?"

"Mm?"

He's alive then; she lets out a sigh of relief and opens the door to get out. Stiles practically flies out the car in an attempt to help Scott before Malia forces him out, but not that he needs to. Scott makes a brave attempt to get out himself, but upon impact with the concrete ground, his legs buckle. Stiles doesn't quite catch him, but he stops his friend from dropping completely.

It takes them a few seconds to realise he's passed out.

"Malia! Help me!" Stiles snaps. The two of them carry the passed out boy across the car park, his feet dragging along the ground. Lydia hurries on slightly ahead of them; she can already see Deaton opening the door and ushering them to get inside.

"What happened?" he asks as they drag him into the back of the clinic and onto the table.

"He passed out," Stiles says, stating the obvious.

"-We think he got a concussion somehow, but he isn't healing," she explains quickly, cutting across the other teen's unhelpful comment.

"Any idea how he got a concussion?" Deaton asks, picking up a small torch from the worktop and pointedly ignoring Stiles.

Lydia explains whats she knows as quickly as she can while watching the vet examine Scott. He gently lifts up his eyelids, shining the torch into Scott's rolled up eyes. 

"Argent thinks he might have been poisoned by wolfsbane," Malia adds helpfully. Deaton pauses, then frowns suddenly.

"I think he might be right," he admits, leaning over to peer carefully at Scott's eyes.

"You do?" Stiles sounds surprised.

"Look at this," Deaton says, gesturing to the three of them, "You see the veins in his eye? They're usually pink or red because of the blood vessels, but a certain type of wolfsbane will turn them purple and damage the vision,"

Lydia leans over the alpha werewolf to peer into his eyes, only to notice that he's right. She would never have noticed if he hadn't of pointed it out.

"So he's been poisoned by wolfsbane?" Stiles asks, looking for confirmation.

"Yes," Deaton doesn't offer any further information. Instead, he turns and starts to rummage around in his cupboard.

"I can't smell wolfsbane," Malia points out suddenly. She looks suspicious.

"That's because this particular variety of the plant has no scent," Deaton explains, "Which makes it very easy to slip into something like a drink unnoticed,"

"So he was poisoned," Lydia concludes, stepping back and tilting her head, "But it doesn't explain why he went to the Nemeton or why he has no memory of it,"

"No," Deaton agrees, "As powerful as the wolfsbane is, it can't do that. It doesn't even cause death. In fact, all this type does is slow down the healing process considerably,"

"So maybe he did get a head injury after all," Malia suggests thoughtfully, "Which would explain why he hasn't healed,"

"But it doesn't explain how he got the head injury," Lydia responds.

"So maybe he did get attacked after all - it's possible isn't it?" Stiles brings up his earlier idea again, "It looks like someone wanted to hurt him,"

There's a thoughtful silence as Deaton picks out a bottle of purple liquid and a syringe. Stiles stares at it suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"A cure, hopefully," Deaton replies. Stiles doesn't look reassured, but Lydia isn't worried. After all, he hasn't given them a reason not to trust him.

"I thought you have to burn the wolfsbane," Malia frowns, before adding, "That's what Scott told me,"

Lydia remembers Stiles vaguely telling her that Derek Hale had once stopped wolfbane poisoning by burning it. She supposes Scott must have told Malia the same story.

"Unfortunately, I don't have a sample of the wolfsbane to burn - and I can't burn it out of the wound, because Scott doesn't appear to have one. This is simply an alternative," Deaton explains, filling the syringe. Lydia watches as he gently inserts it into Scott's arm and Stiles looks away. She finds it funny that after all this time, and all of the fears that he's faced, the teen still has a fear of needles. Malia just rolls her eyes.

"How long until he wakes up?" Lydia enquires.

"No longer than twenty minutes, I expect," Deaton replies, "The antidote just has to move throughout his system and heal him,"

"Well, I'm hungry," Malia announces, "I'm going home,"

"Oh no you aren't, Sweetheart," Lydia tells her firmly as Stiles sends his own disproving look towards the were-coyote, "If you're going anywhere, you can go and update Melissa about her son,"

"Why? Just text her,"

"Because that's not something you do over a text," Stiles says slowly, taking over, "and you can't go home, because we only have one car,"

"I'll run,"

"To Scott's house?"

"No, to my house," Malia states it as if it's obvious, choosing to look dumb in hopes it will get her what she wants. But Lydia knows this trick only too well.

"Malia, either you go to see Melissa or you stay here. Remember the pack rules?" she says, giving the were-coyote a big, fake smile. Malia scowls.

"Stick together," Stiles adds helpfully. Malia's scowl deepens.

"Fine," she says, as she flounces out the room, "I'll visit Melissa,"

Lydia turns to share a look with Stiles.

"But only because she'll give me food!" Malia yells, and the door slams shut.

"It's an improvement," Stiles tells her, wincing, but the tone he uses makes it sound more like a question.

"If you say so," she says, pulling out a stool from under a table to sit on. She settles down on it so she's next to Scott. If they're going to wait twenty minutes, she might as well make herself comfortable, especially as her feet still hurt. Stiles sits down as well, but he pulls himself up onto the counter top instead. Deaton rummages through the cupboards behind her, clinking glasses together; he appears to be busy.

Part of her wishes that she was too; she hates waiting around, unable to do anything. It makes her feel useless. Twenty minutes might not seem like a long time, but for someone else, it could be the difference between life and death.


	4. Chapter 4

Scott groans softly. He's not even sure if he means to, but he does anyway. It perfectly describes how he feels - not good. Not good in a I'm-not-hurt-but-I-don't-know-where-I-am kind of way. Disorientated, in other words. Or just one word.

"Scott? Scott, can you hear me?"

"You okay?"

The voices that float above him are familiar, but for a second he struggles to match them to a face. It doesn't help that he's tired, but not in an exhausted kind of way. In fact, if he has to guess, it feels like he's been drugged up on something; maybe it's supposed to make him sleepy.

But almost as soon as he comes to this conclusion, he realises that the feeling is draining away rapidly. It must be a good thing if he can think more clearly. Or at least he thinks so.

"Scott?"

The voice is more recognisable this time: Stiles. The other voice, he recalls, sounded like Lydia. Lydia and Stiles, his best friends. But their voices sounded urgent. He wonders what they want.

Desperate to see them, he blinks open his eyes slowly, gradually coming back to full consciousness. A flicker of panic shoots through him as he wonders where he is, but as quickly as it comes, it's gone. It's okay. He's safe. He can feel cool metal beneath his back, which suggests he's in the animal clinic. Too much of his time is spent here. It's starting to become far too regular.

But then again, he's a werewolf. Where else could he go after a supernatural injury? As well equipped as the Beacon Hills' Hospital is, it's unlikely they cure anything faintly supernatural, even with all the dramatic events that happen there.

After his eyes adjust to the sudden bright light, Scott is surprised to see Deaton looking down at him. The vet has a curious expression on his face, as if he knows something important but isn't willing to share it. Scott is very familiar with this look, but it doesn't comfort him at all. There's something in the back of his mind telling him that's he's missing something important, but he doesn't know what. 

"Is he okay?" It's his best friend's voice again, but this time it isn't directed at him. Scott thinks it's probably directed at Deaton, seeing as he's the expert here.

He lets out a smaller groan and sits up suddenly. It turns out to be a bad idea as black dots dance across his vision, but they soon fade away. The wave of dizziness that came with it disappears almost as quickly. Okay, so that might not have been one of his better reactions when it comes to waking up at the animal clinic.

"You probably shouldn't do that just yet," Deaton warns him, confirming his suspicions, "You still need some time to heal,"

"I'm healed," he announces, before moving to get off the table. Lydia and Deaton block him so he frowns.

"I've healed," he repeats, blinking. Then the questions hit him - healed from what?

"I- what happened?" he asks, realising he should probably know. There are threads of fading memories in the the back of his mind, but it's like waking up from a dream. The memories trickle away through his hands like water; he can't quite hold onto the details. It's all one big blur.

"That's what we were hoping you would know," Lydia sighs, and she's got this expression on her face like she expected more from him. Scott can't quite figure it out.

"Do you remember anything? - Like, at all?" Stiles asks impatiently. Scott frowns at him. As the seconds pass, he's beginning to feel more and more like he's missing something. It's almost like he promised to give them something a while back and came up empty handed. He's not quite sure what he's supposed to be telling them.

"Let's start off from the beginning," Deaton suggests, noticing Scott's hesitation, "What's the last thing you remember doing?"

"I - um..." he pauses again to think. What was he doing?, "I think I went up into town to buy something,"

This time, the reactions aren't really any better. Stiles puts a hand over his face with a muffled "You think?" and Lydia bites her top lip and shakes her head. Deaton's serious expression doesn't change. Apparently he failed that question.

"What did you buy?" Deaton asks.

"I don't know," he's not sure why it matters. Unless shopping is the reason he was on the metal table in the first place. Somehow, he thinks it's unlikely.

"Scott, please, for the love of God, try to remember something," Stiles tells him firmly, "We haven't got a lot else to go on right now,"

"I remember walking in the preserve," he offers, then adds as an afterthought, "A bit,"

"Where were you going?" Lydia quizzes him. Scott shrugs.

"I don't really remember,"

"Scott!" Stiles scolds him. Scott raises an eyebrow. Has he done something wrong?

"What?"

"Focus. What else do you remember?"

"I remember walking in the preserve, I was alone for a bit. Then I remember walking next to Malia - I think you two were there too," he can't really remember anything. For all he knows, his brain is just filling the gaps with logical scenarios. Who knows if it actually happened.

"But do you remember anything before that?" Lydia prods, "Something to do with the Nemeton? Blood? Maybe a fight?"

Scott stares at her, wondering if she's serious about it. He's officially had enough now - it's his turn to ask the questions. 

"What? What happened? Was there a fight?" When nobody answers he tries to interrogate them further, "Just tell me what happened. You obviously know more than me. How did I get hurt? Why were we at the in the Nature Preserve?"

Still, neither of them answer him and he can feel himself getting frustrated. Honestly, the questions aren't that hard to answer. Either they know or they don't. Why is he always supposed to have the answers? Is it just because he's the alpha? - the leader of the pack? He has no idea.

"I believe we're still trying to work out what happened," Deaton says, breaking the tension, "The pieces still need to be fitted together,"

"But we're missing most of the pieces," Lydia says, tilting her head. She lifts up a hand to examine her glossy fingernails. Scott glares at her sudden uncaring attitude; he wants her to stop acting like it's not her problem too. For some reason, he feels like he should be mad at her, though he has no idea why.

"Well give me the pieces you have!" he demands, reaching over to hold her wrist so she pays attention to him, "Tell me something!"

"Whoa!" says Stiles, holding his hands up in mock surrender to show he's not taking sides, "Let's all calm down. Physical contact is completely unnecessary when asking a question Scotty, so let's not hurt Lydia, yeah?"

"I'm not hurting her," he argues, but he loosens his grip when he realises she's trying to pull away. Stiles has to pry his fingers off her wrist completely before she's free again. He almost feels guilty as he watches her rub her wrist. But then he reminds himself that his question still hasn't been answered, so technically, it's not his fault.

"You're acting so weird today dude," Stiles shakes his head, "You went to the Nemeton so quickly it looks like you nearly shredded your hand up on the window, then -"

"- Window?" he cuts across, automatically assuming he's referring to his bedroom window.

"Yeah, you went through the window and got blood all over it. So you were running around-"

"Why did I go through the window?" he interrupts again, looking down at his hands. One is indeed covered in blood, so he probably looks like he's ripped out someone's heart recently. He's just thankful it wasn't the hand he used to grab Lydia with. And he'll admit it - he does kind of feel guilty about grabbing her wrist without warning now he thinks about it.

"Well, that's what we're trying to find out," Stiles says, looking slightly frustrated, "So if you'll just let me explain what we know-"

"- Why did I go to the Nemeton?"

"Scott, if you shut the hell up, I'll tell you okay?" Stiles shoots him a glare, "Now as I was saying, you went to the Nemeton for a while, but we don't know why. We were kind of hoping you would be able to tell us,"

Stiles' hand claps over his mouth as he begins to open it again.

"Don't say anything," he warns, "So Malia tracked your scent to the Nemeton, but by the time we got there, you were already gone. We found you four miles away from it and you were, I quote "going home". Only you were going in the opposite direction and it took you several hours to go four miles. Then, you told us you woke up on the floor at the Nemeton with a head injury, so we took you here,"

"You had a concussion because you weren't healing," Lydia states flatly, "You were also poisoned with wolfsbane at some point,"

Stiles removes his hand from Scott's mouth, but he doesn't have anything to say. The story was wild from start to finish, so he's kind of in shock at the moment. His mouth opens and closes again several times without making any sound.

"I...what?" he says finally, pulling a face, "Wolfsbane? But...who -who poisoned me with wolfsbane?"

"We were...kind of also hoping you would know that," Stiles admits, clapping a hand on his back. Scott shakes it off, unable to process it. After all, it doesn't even sound real. It sounds completely out of character for him - why would he jump out a window, injure himself, go to the Nemeton or get lost? It doesn't make sense at all. Unless of course, he lost control. But even then, he doubts he would get lost. Could werewolves even get themselves lost? Apparently so.

"You said something about a fight," he remembers after a pause, looking up at Lydia, "Did Malia think there'd been a fight?"

"No," says Lydia simply, "But we're not sure how else you could end up with a concussion and wolfsbane poisoning. Malia just said there was only your scent at the Nemeton,"

"So I must have been poisoned before I got to the Nemeton,"

"Not necessarily," Stiles points out, "Your hand healed,"

"I expect you were," Deaton disagrees, "This type of wolfsbane needs to be in the system for at least a couple of hours before it takes affect. It's a particularity weak type of the species,"

Scott's head hurts. Not literally, but all of the information is too much for his brain to handle at the moment. It's like he's in a stage of denial or something. Right now, he needs sleep - a lot of it - and food. That would be good too.

"Oh," is all he says and he slides off the metal table and onto the floor. Nobody stops him this time, though Stiles does make a movement to help him down before changing his mind.

"You should probably go home and rest," Deaton advises, "I expect you have a lot on your mind,"

Scott nods and murmurs a farewell before he leaves the room. He feels perfectly fine, which might explain why he's having trouble believing what happened. Even after all this time, he still occasionally finds himself healing from an injury quickly strange and disorientating. After all, he had spent the first sixteen years of his life healing the old fashioned way. It only makes sense that it should take time to adjust to the change.

"Are you actually okay?" Stiles asks, catching up with him as they go into the car park. Lydia follows them on Stiles' other side; she's not looking at them.

"Yeah," he confirms confidently, "I just don't remember anything - it's weird,"

"It is," Stiles agrees, "Just like everything else in our lives - but hey, maybe you'll remember later on or something. That can happen right? You can regain the memories you lost in a head injury?"

He looks over at Lydia for confirmation, but she doesn't answer. She's not even paying attention to them.

"Lyd-i-aa..." Stiles says, drawing out the syllables and waving a hand in front of her face.

"What?" She blinks at him and frowns, "I was just wondering when you could have been poisoned," she looks around to face Scott. "I think it must have happened when you went into town,"

"I remember going to the town centre and walking around shops," Scott admits, "But I have no idea if I bought anything,"

"Sleep on it," she advises, "Maybe you'll remember in the morning,"

Scott's not sure how much that will help, but he agrees anyway. He doesn't know for sure whether it will work or not, but it's worth the try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! I thought I'd published this part already.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles drops Lydia off too when they reach his house. For a moment he doesn't understand why, but then he sees her car parked outside. It strikes him as slightly odd; he thought she would have come with Stiles and Malia.

"Are you going to school tomorrow?" Lydia asks him, as they watch Stiles drive away. Scott just shrugs, he hasn't really thought about it.

"I don't really see the point of staying at home," he admits, "So I might as well go,"

She pats his arm and pauses, before reaching into her handbag.

"I forgot you dropped this," she pulls out a black phone with a single crack running across it, "It was in your garden,"

"It's a new one," he states sadly, taking it, but he's not surprised. When it comes to technology, he has the worst luck. His TV is partly broken and he's lost count of how many phones he's been through. Though, he has to admit, Stiles has broken at least two of them (dropping a phone into a puddle of water is a definite way to ruin it).

"It's not that bad," Lydia argues, looking at the crack, "Remember that time it fell out your pocket when you were on your bike?"

He does remember. He'd been late to school, so he shoved it in his jacket pocket as he filled his bag up with homework. Somehow he'd forgotten about it and it managed to fly out of his pocket as he turned a sharp corner into the parking lot at school. Why it had stayed still until the last ten seconds of the journey, he didn't know. But Stiles had found it hilarious. A spider web of cracks had ruined the phone (making it useless) and as a result, many broken phone jokes were made throughout the following week by a certain somebody.

"Well I'll see you tomorrow," he says. Lydia nods and turns away, heading towards her car.

He only realises how late it is after she's left; the sky is pitch black, covered by a sea of clouds. It reminds him about the pile of homework sitting on his desk, still waiting to be done. This was the result of him leaving homework until the last second, so he deserves the panic that will come to him later on.

With a sigh, he goes inside, only to find two familiar scents instead of one. His mom's scent is expected...Malia's however, is slightly less expected. He traces the scents to the kitchen.

"Scott!" exclaims Malia excitedly. She's sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of sandwiches, grinning. He can't help but grin back.

"Hey," he says. His Mom swings around and crushes him with a hug. If he wasn't a werewolf, he suspects she probably would have broken a rib or two.

"Are you okay now?" she asks, clutching onto him tightly. He wraps his arms around her.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I don't know what happened though - I can't remember,"

"Well, you did have a concussion," Malia points out knowledgeably, looking unsurprised. Half a sandwich then disappears into her mouth. Recently, Scott's noted, she seems to have a thing about his mom's cooking. She'll never pass an opportunity to eat something made by Melissa McCall.

Scott unravels himself from his mother's arms and steps back. He needs to do his homework, or at least some of it. Collecting detentions is not something he wants to start doing again, especially when he's so close to graduating. Lydia's mom, Natalie, has printed this firmly in his mind, along with the constant reminder about his awful attendance. In fact, Miss Martin was the only reason why he hadn't been suspended permanently a term before.

She keeps reminding him that Beacon Hills High School are looking for any reason to kick him out; he doesn't blame them. If anything dramatic happens, he's usually involved - fights, murders, crime scenes, extreme damage - it's probably something to do with him. On more than one occasion he's aided in the destruction of the boy's locker room and the library.

"I'd better do my homework for tomorrow," he tells his mom and Malia, before backing out of the room. Malia mumbles something about seeing him the next day and his mom tells him to sleep as well as work. Which of course he will do - his homework won't take that long to do, maybe a couple of hours at the most.

He immediately wants to recalculate the amount of time it will take when he reaches the desk and looks at the homework. There'a an entire page of algebra to do (he almost hates it as much as Malia) and he has an essay to write up for English. Then there's that Biology research sheet that he's been putting off for almost two weeks. What happened to his don't-leave-it-until-the-last-minute plan? He'd been doing so well for almost an entire school term.

With a sigh, he slumps down onto his desk chair and pulls out the English homework. He might as well get on with it. If he leaves it any longer, he'll just fall asleep...

 

Scott abruptly wakes up at 8:15am, when his mother raps on the door to inform him that she's going to work, but she doesn't come in. He wakes up at the desk with an aching back, using his Biology textbook as a pillow. If he's honest, he's kind of miffed that his mom didn't wake him up sooner, but she's probably under the impression that he can take care of himself by now.

He's also pissed off by the fact that class starts in 15 minutes, and not only is he not at school, but his homework is still not done and his hand is caked in dried blood. Had he actually done his english homework and half his biology homework with a bloodied hand? His priorities seemed to be a bit messed up the night before.

It takes him ten minutes to scrub off the blood and get changed, then another ten minutes to gather up his half (and poorly) done homework as well as all the other stuff he needs for school. By the time he gets down the stairs, he's realised his phone battery is dead and that he's probably going to get a months worth of detentions. 

Natalie Martin would kill him. Come to that - so would Stiles. His best friend held grudges like no one else. It didn't help that he always got so paranoid - if he ever sent a text and didn't get an answer, he would automatically assume the worst.

But after all the things they've been through, Scott can't blame him. After All, being immensely worried works both ways.

 

By the time Scott gets to school (breaking several road laws on the way), it's 8:54. Or, at least it is according to his watch, because his phone is completely dead. The parking lot is completely deserted, apart from the neatly parked cars in each and every space - Scott can see the roof of the jeep over the over vehicles. He's also reminded of how lucky he is to have a motorcycle, because if he had a car, there would be nowhere to park at all.

He practically jumps of his bike before sprinting inside towards his locker, desperate to make it to class before it ends. A quick glance at his timetable tells him he has history with Miss Turner, the history teacher who replaced Mr Yukimura after he left. He doesn't particularly like her, he finds her to stern, but she's not the worst teacher he's had. In fact, by Beacon Hills standards, she's one of the best.

Scott rushes down the empty corridor, cursing the school for making his first lesson on a Monday as far from his locker as possible. It's almost like they're trying to get him expelled - all of his classes are at opposite ends of the school.

But eventually he makes it, after sprinting up a couple of flights of stairs and through who knows how many desolate hallways. Heart hammering, he opens the door and quietly slips into the classroom (he silently thanks whoever decided to put the door at the back of the classroom). Conveniently, Stiles has placed himself at the back of the room with a spare desk next to him. His best friend's bag lies on top, silently daring anyone to move it and sit down. There's definitely a benefit to having the loudest person in the class as your best friend.

"Thanks dude," he whispers, swiping the bag off the desk and sitting down. The bag hits the floor with a dull thump and Stiles jumps, completely unaware of his arrival; his chair scrapes across the floor. They both freeze.

"Mr McCall," Miss Turner looks up at him sternly from the front of the room, "Is there any particular reason why you're half an hour late to class?"

"I slept in?" he asks, then inwardly groans. He's never said anything so unconvincing in his life. Apparently Stiles agrees, because he slaps a hand onto his forehead.

"On a school day? You're in your senior year now - nearly at the end of it in fact. You should know better by now. But you can make it up by staying after school for a detention today, maybe you'll learn something," she glares at him and turns back to the board, "Now, as I was saying, The Wall Street Crash was..."

Her voice fades into the background as Scott lets his attention wander. She was making it sound like he chose to sleep longer than usual - it's not his fault. It's hard to wake up at a precise time without an alarm.

He shares a look with Stiles as he watches the boy lean towards him.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. Scott just nods. Maybe he's just having a bad week or something - It definitely wouldn't be the first time.

"Did you remember anything?" Stiles enquires, brows raised. Scott prepares to shake his head again, but surprises himself by answering.

"I remember what I went into the town centre for," he admits, referring the to the small street in the centre of Beacon Hills. If he's honest, there isn't much there: a starbucks, a couple of other food related stores, a bookshop, small family owned businesses and a bank. Anyone who wants to get anything more than basic shopping has to go the mall.

"What?" asks Stiles. He's leaning so far out of his chair that Scott's afraid he'll fall off; only two of the legs are touching the floor.

"I went to get a phone charger, then I got a text from Lydia, asking me to meet her in a cafe,"

"Beacon Cafe?"

"Yeah - how'd you know?"

"It's her favourite cafe," Stiles pauses, then pulls a conspiratorial expression, "Hey - maybe Lydia poisoned you!"

"Dude, that's not funny," Scott glares at him. There was no way Lydia could have poisoned him - she's part of the pack and she had no reason to do it anyway.

"I know - I'm just kidding. But seriously, did you eat or drink anything?" the chair tilts, if possible, even more.

"I don't have a clue - I think I got there before Lydia did...I don't remember seeing her," he frowns. Suddenly the memories are coming back (or a few of them at least) but he still doesn't understand what happened. When did he get poisoned by wolfsbane? Who poisoned him? Why?

"Well apparently Lydia didn't see you either," Stiles informs him, "Because she told me yesterday that she went to the cafe and you never turned up, so she just assumed you went home and left,"

"But I did go -I went early! I remember!" he exclaims.

"Scott McCall! If you don't want detentions for the next two weeks, I suggest you shut up and work. You've already wasted enough time today," a voice from the front of the classroom interrupts their discussion. Stiles (somehow) subtly leans away, taking his unbalanced chair with him.

"Actually," Miss Turner says thoughtfully, "You can swap seats with Sydney. That way you won't drag Mr Stilinski into detention with you,"

Beside him, Stiles groans. Scott barely manages to stop himself rolling his eyes, before he gets up from the desk, taking his untouched stuff with him. Teachers have the worst timing, especially when it come to supernatural conversations. It looks like that's the end of that conversation.

 

***

 

By the time Scott got out of detention, Lydia was just about ready to kill Stiles. They'd been waiting outside of Miss Turner's room for an hour, and Stiles had been talking for every single second of it.

He hadn't shut up once. She hadn't got a single word in edgeways.

He'd told her every single detail of why Scott was late to school (as if she couldn't work it out herself) before proceeding to rant about the history teacher that had given the detention in the first place. Then she'd heard a similar rant about all the other teachers he didn't like, including their deceased chemistry teacher, Mr Harris.

She wasn't even surprised when that was followed with a one way conversation about fictional superheroes. It mainly involved opinions about Batman and Robin, particularly about their relationship with each other. She thought he might have mentioned Star Wars too, but that was around the time she stopped listening completely, so she couldn't be sure.

It only struck her afterwards that he might have kept up the relentless chattering for Scott's sake, not hers. He knew perfectly well that she couldn't care less about Sci-fi and adventure movies, but for Scott, it would certainly be more interesting than sitting in silence for sixty minutes. The werewolf probably listened to the entire thing.

It turned out that Stiles could be incredibly smart and thoughtful when he wanted to be.

So could she - when she wanted. Of course, she was smart all the time, but being thoughtful towards people was not a twenty-four-seven thing. It was reserved for only the people closest to her, with Scott and Stiles being two of them. Before she'd known them, it was only reserved for one person: Danny Mahealani. He'd been the only true friend she'd had. Of course, there'd been her ex-boyfriend, Jackson, and the other people who kept her high up on the popularity ladder, but they weren't exactly close to her. For a majority of the time, she'd been using them for her own sake.

That of course, had all changed when Scott had been bitten. If she was honest, she wouldn't even know his name if it wasn't for Stiles - the gangly kid with ADHD who never shut up. Before the whole werewolf thing, they'd just been two dorky, awkward kids in her class, one of which caused her serious embarrassment. But then of course Scott stole Jackson's celebrity status on the lacrosse field, and everything went on from there.

"You okay?" Scott asked her, escaping the classroom and slamming the door shut behind him. Lydia and Stiles both winced - she was sure he forgot about his werewolf strength, with the way he went around slamming things; doors, windows, lockers...she could name several things he slammed on a regular basis.

"Yes," she said, sharing a look with Stiles, "Are you?"

"I'm good," Scott announced, "Apart from the fact that I have a detention tomorrow as well, because I didn't finish my Biology homework,"

"Just be grateful your maths teacher was ill today," she informed him, "Otherwise you'd have another one,"

"I know," Scott said earnestly, then paused. "Have you seen Liam today?"

"Yeah. He's at lacrosse practice. He told me to tell you that Coach intends to never forgive you and that that he wants you to know that," Stiles said pulling out his phone.

There was a pause as Scott wrapped his head around what had just come out of Stiles' mouth.

"Okay," he said finally, "But I had to quit. I need to focus on my grades,"

"Tell that to coach, not me," Stiles replied, his tongue between his teeth. He was busy scrolling through his phone, apparently looking for something.

Scott had broken the news to the lacrosse coach the other day, and from what Stiles had told her, she didn't think it had very gone very well - especially as Stiles had quit as well, once learning his best friend would be. Apparently it had ended with a twenty minute long rant about them that made Greenberg look like a star student in comparison. Lydia knew the words "betrayal", "only hope" and "Selfish team captain" had been used a lot by the coach. She couldn't really blame him - after all, Scott was the only reason why they'd even won games in the first place. He could probably go against the other school teams by himself and still win. Without him, Beacon Hills would go back to being the high school that never won anything.

"Coach is holding tryouts again now, just because of you," she informed Scott as they turned to walk down the hall, "Liam is the only one with a guaranteed spot," 

She didn't mention that half the team quit when they heard Scott was leaving; she didn't want to make him feel guilty. It just seemed like she wasn't the only one who knew well Scott played - most people only joined up because they were guaranteed to be in a winning team. Who wouldn't want to share some of the glory? Of course, they quit again when Scott left - if they didn't, people would start to notice that the team wasn't made up of star players after all. But this way, if they left all at once, it would hopefully look like they'd all decided to quit at once, therefore making sure they kept their good reputations. Lydia suspected she was one of the few people that saw right through this little trick.

"Why?" asked Scott. Lydia noted that he looked completely surprised. "He has seven reserve players to use. All he needs to do is elect a new lacrosse captain,"

"Again," said Stiles, still scrolling, "Tell coach, not us,"

Scott huffed.

"I need to speak to him," he said impatiently, "Is practice now? Outside?"

"Practice? No. Try-outs? Yes," she grabbed his wrist before he could run off. "You aren't team captain anymore. You don't make the decisions,"

"Someone has to,"

"But not you - you need to focus on your grades. Do you want to get into college?" she asked him, still keeping a firm grip. She could see him faltering as he acknowledged what she said.

"Should have elected Liam as captain before you left," Stiles mused, unhelpfully. Lydia leaned behind Scott to give him a withering glare.

"You're right," Scott agreed, glancing at Stiles, "I do need to speak to Coach,"

He slid out of her grip and sprinted off down the hall. Lydia glared after him.

"You know," Lydia turned to Stiles, "If Scott fails and doesn't get into college, it's going to be all your fault,"

Stiles finally looked up to give her an offended look.

"How is it gonna be my fault? In no way is it my fault if he still can't tell the difference between meiosis and mitosis, even though I know and I don't even do AP biology. And have you seen his maths grade? It's almost as bad as Malia's, and he's got like nine more years of education than her-"

"-Which is exactly why you need to stop distracting him," she interrupted, "I'm being serious - he needs to revise and study more,"

Stiles came to a stop and gaped at her, waving his hands up and down wordlessly, "Oh my god! How the hell is that my fault? I do not distract him - ever! I cannot believe you're blaming this on me, you're supposed to be smart!"

"I am," she argued, "That's why I'm telling you to stop distracting him. You just gave him a reason to go running back to lacrosse practice-"

"-Tryouts-,"

"-Whatever," she waved him off, "He could be going home to study and actually do his homework, but instead he's wasting his time arguing about the lacrosse team, and we both know that nothing he says can ever change Coach's mind,"

"I didn't actually tell him to argue with Coach," Stiles pointed out, "I just suggested that he could have done something to make the team better,"

"Yes," Lydia agreed, "Which is exactly how you distracted him. He could have studied to make up for the lesson he missed this morning during his detention too, but you distracted him again, by talking. Are you starting to see a pattern?"

"You need three things to make a pattern,"

"This isn't a crime, Stiles,"

"Well, you're definitely making it sound like I'm committing one," he pointed out. She glared at him.

"I'm not making a pattern for you to solve or figure out, I'm making a point," she said slowly, "You're distracting Scott, and you need to stop,"

"Well, why don't you ask Scott if he thinks I'm distracting him. I'm very very confident he'll say no,"

"He probably will," she said exasperatedly, "Because you've manipulated him into thinking otherwise," 

"No, I have not!"

"Yes, you have. You're the most manipulative person I know - remember that time you convinced Coach you'd handed in your economics essay and and that he'd given you an A?"

"Yeah but anyone can do that to Coach. Don't you think Scott knows me better than Coach?"

"Yes, but Scott is also completely oblivious to the fact that his best friend is a corrosive, manipulative little-"

"Lydia?"

She spun around at the sound of her mother's voice, to find her mom standing behind them at the end of the hall. She sincerely hoped that she hadn't heard any of that conversation, for numerous reasons - one of those being that Stiles might have ended up with several detentions and an essay to write.

"Yes?"

"Have you seen Malia recently? She was supposed to come and see me after school to do a maths test she missed... but she never turned up,"

Lydia shared a look with Stiles. They should have seen this one coming.

"She probably forgot," she replied, knowing fully well that Malia would have purposely avoided doing it for as long as possible. The were-coyote's hatred for maths reached a whole new level sometimes.

"I'll call her," Stiles offered, holding up his phone. Natalie Martin ignored him, choosing to instead focus on her daughter.

"Why are you at school still anyway? Usually you're out the door as soon as it's half past three,"

"We decided to wait for Scott," she said instantly, without thinking. Stiles sent her a sharp look.

"What's Scott doing? He didn't get a detention, did he?"

"He went to talk to Coach Finstock about something," Lydia stated, avoiding the question. She'd gotten surprisingly good at not directly answering questions recently.

"I thought he'd already quit lacrosse? That's what he told me the other day," her mom frowned. Sometimes Lydia forgot her mother worked as a guidance counselor as well as a supply teacher, and she still hadn't told the others about her mom applying for the head teacher's job either. It was beginning to get confusing, trying to work out what her mom did and didn't know.

Her mom knew about most of the supernatural related stuff now, or at least the outline of it. After the Dread Doctors and her time in Eichen House, she couldn't really hide the fact that she was a banshee any longer. Obviously though, her mom had no idea what she'd been doing the day before.

"He did," she assured her mom, "He just wants to talk about something,"

It was clear she didn't believe her - not that Lydia blamed her. She wasn't about to win any awards for being the most truthful or trustworthy daughter.

"Malia says she completely forgot about the test, and that she is so so sorry - She'll do it tomorrow," Stiles conveniently interrupted, before her mom could integrate any further. With a huff her mom spun around and stalking off, mumbling something that sounded a lot like "Time wasters".

"What did she actually say?" Lydia demanded, as soon as the older woman was out of earshot.

"I hate maths. Fuck maths. I'm not doing the test," Stiles recalled, "Then she hung up on me,"

"Sounds like Malia," she said, sighing.

"So what were you saying about me? I'm a corrosive, manipulative little...what Lydia? What am I?" prodded Stiles, changing the subject as they continued walking down the hall.

"Right now? An asshole," she snapped, "Now are you going to help me find Malia and Scott, or should I do it by myself?"

"Well I wanted to know what you were actually going to say,"

"I'll round them up by myself then," she said, stalking off ahead of him as well as she could in high heels. Unsurprisingly, he caught up after a couple of strides.

"Hey - Lydia..." he started walking alongside her again, "They aren't sheep you know - they're were-creatures,"

"Which is more of a reason why we should find them," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do when we find them?"

"We're going to make Scott finish his maths homework and force Malia to study for her test tomorrow," she informed him, leaving no room for an argument.

 

Three hours later, and Lydia was beginning to regret ever being thoughtful. It was currently 7:52pm, and they were nowhere near done - not to mention that none of them had eaten. After Stiles had reluctantly pulled Scott away from the lacrosse pitch, they'd picked up Malia from her house and then somehow ended up at Lydia's lake house.

Currently, they were all gathered in the living room, spread out across pieces of furniture, and in Malia's case, the floor. To begin with, Lydia had started working with Scott, which had been fine for the first hour - then Malia started arguing with Stiles so they swapped over and never swapped back. So now she was trying to persuade Malia to attempt an algebra question, with poor results.

"Why are there letters and numbers? What do the letters mean?" Malia was asking, yet again. It was causing Lydia almost physical pain, having to explain the same thing over and over again. They weren't getting anywhere apart from going in continuous circles and it was driving her mad; she almost wanted to scream.

"Malia, please concentrate," she begged, which wasn't something she did often, "I've explained this in five different ways now,"

"But I can't understand something that doesn't make sense in the first place!" Malia argued, looking exasperated, "Fractions make sense! I even understand a bit of probability! But algebra is meaningless and completely pointless!"

"Calm down!" Lydia hissed, "There's a difference between it not making sense and you just being too stubborn to try and learn it,"

She knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as she closed her mouth. Malia growled at her, showing her fangs.

"Sweetie," she said, "Put the teeth away. The algebra won't kill you, but if you don't do it, I might,"

"I'm getting some fresh air," Malia announced, ignoring her completely. Lydia sighed as the were-coyote got to her feet and snapped the pencil in half, "And I'm not planning to come back,"

"You'll fail the exam," Lydia warned, trying one last time.

"I don't care. I don't need algebra," she scrunched up her nose and flounced out of the room, letting the door swing back behind her. A few seconds later the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming shut rang throughout the house. Lydia sighed.

"Thanks for the help," she told Stiles, her voice laced with sarcasm. She rolled her eyes as she turned to face him, only to find Scott stretched out on the couch beside him, fast asleep.

"What's the point of even trying to help them?" she asked Stiles, "They're hopeless,"

"So Coach said," Stiles mused, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully, "I guess you could say they're brawn, not brains,"

"I heard that," mumbled Scott from the couch, apparently not as dead as he looked. Lydia resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.

"I can't believe you played dead to get out of finishing your homework," Stiles said, grabbing his friend's arm. Lydia watched in confusion as he stood up, still holding on tightly, before yanking hard.

"Stiles! No!" she warned, a second to late. She watched in horror as Scott was dragged abruptly onto the floor in slow motion, barely missing the glass coffee table in the process. He hit the floor with a dull thud, waking up completely.

"Ow," he said, though it sounded like he was more bewildered than hurt, "Stiles,"

"Yeah Buddy?"

"Stiles - do you know how much that coffee table is worth?" she demanded. She was going to kill him one day.

"A lot?"

"Yes - a lot! If you break it I expect to get-"

"-No, don't tell me, I don't wanna know how much that thing is worth," Stiles decided, shaking his head, "Scott, I'm sorry I nearly used you to break a table that's worth more than my life,"

They both looked down to see Scott's reaction, but he wasn't paying attention to either of them. Instead he was frowning, head tilted, facing towards the back of the house. He was completely still.

"Scott?" she asked tentatively. He didn't answer straight away.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" they said. She shared a look with Stiles. Scott hearing things that they couldn't was always unnerving; it made her feel unprepared and oblivious.

"I thought I heard something," he said vaguely, getting to his feet. They followed him out of the living room and into the hallway, where he was heading towards the back door.

"Heard what?" Stiles asked finally, prodding for more information, "A trespasser? A werewolf? Maybe some lost kid in the woods?"

Scott didn't answer. Instead, he picked up the door key from the window sill and unlocked the door, sliding silently through it. Stiles turned to tell Lydia something, but he seemed to change his mind at the last second. She expected it was probably along the lines of stay here. Obviously though, they both knew she wasn't going to do that.

She raised her eyebrows at him before stalking through the door, leaving him to scurry after her.

"Scott," she said quietly, walking towards the werewolf, "What did you hear?"

"There's someone there," was all he said, as he stared grimly into the trees beyond the paved back yard, "I caught a scent,"

She moved to stand next to him, "Human or not human?"

"Not a werewolf," he replied, "It's hard to tell - Parrish doesn't have a different scent and he's not human - only werewolves seem to have different scents,"

"So it could be a kanima, or a wendigo, or maybe even a hellhound," Stiles noted, "Great,"

"They're moving away," Scott informed them, before stepping forward, "Fast,"

"Whoa," warned Stiles, leaping forward to grab his friend's wrist, "You don't need to hunt them down - what if it's a dog walker? You'll scare the shit out of them,"

"What if it's not?" argued Scott, "What if they're-"

"Scott - just leave it," Stiles snapped. Lydia turned to glance at him. He looked surprisingly cross for someone who'd been joking about moments before.

"Just, think about it, okay?" Stiles visibly forced himself to calm down -he hadn't meant to sound so angry. "Since when did rushing into things go well for any of us?"

Scott paused, considering his friend's good point. After a moment, he turned back to the house, but Lydia could easily see it was reluctantly. As an alpha, it was probably hard for him to ignore a possible threat. Usually he was excellent at restraining himself - his self control was exceptional, especially for a werewolf.

"Let's watch a movie," she suggested, "You can sleep over too,"

Stiles face immediately lit up and he spun around to look at her as they walked back inside.

"I'll watch literally anything except The Notebook," he offered, "I'm sick to death of that movie...wait - we should watch Star Wars!"

She shook her head. "No. If we're going to watch that, we have to do a marathon. I'm not going to do a marathon on a school night,"

"We could just watch A New Hope," he argued.

"You said that when you made us watch The Lord of the Rings. We ended up watching all of them in one go," they continued bickering back and forth before Lydia pointed out that Scott, Liam and Malia needed to be there to watch Star Wars, seeing as none of them had seen it. Eventually though, they settled on an almost decent film.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will probably be a lot slower now because I've started school again. However, this chapter is nearly three times as long as usual to make up for it. xx

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Teen Wolf fan fiction. It's probably going to be quite short, or at least for now. I'd really love it if you could leave a review, and all criticism is greatly appreciated (anything from my grammar to my story plot)! enjoy!


End file.
